


say my name through the screen door (come on back to the front porch)

by ErinWrites417



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty just for a minute I promise, Arrow Series Finale speculation, Because Olicity happy endings are my jam, F/M, How we get to this point I don't know, I just know in my head it happens because Mia sacrifices a lot, MAYBE I HAVE AN OBSESSION WITH THEIR WEDDING RINGS? Who's to say????, More like Arrow series finale wishful thinking, One Shot, Reunion, reset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21515863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinWrites417/pseuds/ErinWrites417
Summary: Felicity Smoak lost her husband forty-seven days ago and she's just learning to breathe again. But then a blonde woman she's never met shows up at the cabin and shakes the foundation of the universe she thought she knew.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Comments: 14
Kudos: 158





	say my name through the screen door (come on back to the front porch)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Joy William's "Front Porch"
> 
> Don't ask me how this set-up works. Or how we'd get to this point. But I had to write a reset even though I'm fairly confident that won't happen. Still, fanfic is the place for things like that, right?

The sunset draws Felicity from her living room for the first time in weeks. The weather has been downright hostile over the last month, stamping out any desire to venture outside the cabin for more than just a quick errand. But tonight, the warm oranges and pinks that streak across the sky are just too beautiful to miss. She curls her hands around a warm mug of tea and steps onto the deck, eyes skyward.

It’s cold enough that she should be wearing a jacket, but the cold biting her skin is the first thing she’s truly felt in weeks. It’s better than feeling completely numb, she muses, a feeling she knows all too intimately.

After Oliver had left with the Monitor, she’d faltered, struggled to live a life—even if it was for the sake of her infant daughter. She’s ashamed to say that it took a while for her to find her feet again. And until forty-seven days ago, she _had_ been doing better. Really, she had. She’d been able to truly smile at Mia, play with her, watch her learn and grow, even revel in it.

But then, forty-seven days ago, after an unusually quiet morning with Mia, her tablet pinged. And Felicity’s fragile world finally shattered. Hours later, John appeared on her doorstep to confirm what she already knew, what she’d already watched on her tablet in utter horror. Oliver was dead.

After that, it had been so easy to withdraw into herself. She rose every morning, going through the motions, living for someone else. And even though she’d known his death was coming, reality was so much worse. The devastation she’d expected. She'd foreseen the tears and the pain. What she hadn’t anticipated was the emptiness. She was hollow, ripped apart.

So for her to _want_ to do something—anything—is a huge stride forward. Even if it means freezing her ass off. If she’s being honest, the crisp air is the least of her worries right now.

The colors in the sky deepen and become more vibrant as time goes on. Felicity sips her tea mindlessly, feeling her cheeks burn with the slight wind. Mia is napping, thank god, otherwise she’d insist on joining her mother in the intense cold. She’d been a stubborn little pill all day, staying awake through her normal nap time and fussing every time Felicity put her down. Five-months-old and she’s already the most headstrong human on the whole planet, Oliver's child. Felicity prays daily that Mia never learns to walk.

When the cold finally becomes just a little too much, Felicity reluctantly turns to walk back inside. But the crack of a branch from the edge of the yard forces her to freeze in her tracks, alarm bells going off in her head. She glances down, spotting the baseball bat that had made its way from the Star City apartment to the front porch at Oliver’s insistence. Not as a weapon, of course, but because it was William’s. She reaches down slowly, placing her now empty mug on the arm of one of the chairs near the door. When her fingers close around the cold grip of the bat, she straightens quickly and turns to face the place where she’d heard the crack.

Her heart pounds in her chest at the sight of a lone figure in her yard, hooded and unmoving just a few yards from her. She swallows, clearing her throat of any uncertainty.

“Take another step forward and you’re dead,” Felicity calls to the figure. She’s pleased with how threatening she sounds. She can't kill anyone with this bat, but this person doesn't need to know that.

“I promise I’m not here to hurt you,” a female voice replies and the figure puts her hands up in surrender. The voice surprises Felicity enough that the baseball bat in her hands sags slightly. “I’m unarmed.”

“What do you want?” Felicity barks. The figure steps forward, moving her hands toward her hood and pushing the fabric down, letting a mane of wild blonde hair loose. She pushes her hair from her face and makes pointed eye contact with Felicity.

“To tell you something about your husband, Felicity,” she states. Felicity feels the bat slip from her grasp completely, letting it clatter to the deck. She waits a moment longer before responding, digging deep to see if the alarm bells ring again. But when they don’t, Felicity nods curtly and waving her forward.

As the girl climbs the stairs, Felicity examines her visitor more closely.

She can’t be a day over twenty, with perfect cheekbones and a lithe build. But her slightness doesn’t hide the power in her movements. There’s something so familiar about her, something that feels like home. It’s something Felicity can’t quite place. But there’s another resemblance Felicity fights to ignore. Until it hits her like a sledgehammer.

“It was _you_! You were there that day,” Felicity gasps, scrambling forward to grasp the girl’s arm. “In Central City. You were with him during the fight, I’ve seen the footage.”

And she had. Dozens of heart wrenching times, from every angle helicopters could capture. She’d watched him fall, watched him land in front of the hotel they’d stayed in on their wedding night, seen the devastation, memorized every detail. Because she had to, because her stupid brain had to know how it—how he—had ended. And it had been alongside this girl.

The air is still around them, neither one daring to breathe for several beats.

Finally, the girl nods, pressing her lips into a tight line. It’s clear she doesn’t want to talk about it, least of all with a “stranger”—though Felicity feels the strangest connection to her, like she’s known her for years. Wildly, in just one minute’s time, Felicity _trusts_ this woman; she was with Oliver when he died, had fought back-to-back with him, had tried to save him, had almost given her life for him.

“Who are you?” Felicity demands.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” the young woman says in a dismissive tone, rushing past Felicity’s question. “But you’re right. I was with your husband when…it happened. And he asked me to give you something. I’m just so sorry it took me this long to get it to you.”

“Oh?” And it suddenly feels like her heart is in a vice, twisted and compressed, the pain just barely contained. Though, if she’s being honest with herself, the pain these last few weeks since his death has been lying in wait, ready to strangle her at any moment.

From her jacket she pulls a well-worn piece of paper, neatly folded into quarters. The edges are weathered and rolled slightly. But it’s clear the paper has been cared for, maybe folded and re-folded a few hundred times in a very meticulous way. Felicity takes it from the girl’s outstretched hand and unfolds it with shaking fingers.

It’s the photograph they’d taken just after Mia’s birth. He must have printed a copy to carry with him at all times. When she unfolds it completely, something drops from the safety of the makeshift envelope it was nestled in, spinning on the wood of the deck before rolling to a stop at her feet.

Oliver’s wedding ring.

Felicity is pretty sure every single molecule of oxygen has been pulled from the atmosphere. She stares at the ring, noticing imperfections along the smooth surface, watching it glint in the final light of the day in stark contrast to the dull wood of the deck. When she bends over to pick it up, she hears more than feels her own haggard breathing.

“He told me to tell you to keep that safe for him. Until he can get it from you himself,” she explains. Felicity scoffs at that, a choking noise following her derisive laugh.

“You and I both know that’s not possible, not anymore,” Felicity says, her voice gravelly and bitter. A crease appears between the girl’s eyebrows.

“You deserve more time with him.” The words are so sorrowful, so infused with regret that they jar Felicity from her downward spiral. Felicity can only gape at the girl in front of her. What is she missing? How does this young woman she’s never met fit into her world? God, she’s so confused by _every_ part of this.

She tries to probe one more time. “Why did you do it? Why did you try to save him?”

“For this. For what will happen today.”

Felicity pauses before letting her frustration bubble over, just a little. “You won’t tell me who you are or why you’re actually here. You won’t tell me how you knew Oliver. You won’t tell me why you did what you did to help him. What can you tell me?” The responding smile is sad and so familiar in a way Felicity can’t place.

“I’m scared you won’t let today happen if you know the truth. Knowing who I am might ruin everything.”

Felicity huffs, exasperated. “How is every word you say complete nonsense?”

The girl hesitates, looking deeply into Felicity’s face as if searching for the answer written there. Finally, she lets out a defeated sigh, letting the truth fly. When she speaks, it’s measured, quiet, devastating. Like she knows she’s being _selfish_ admitting this to Felicity.

“Telling you could ruin your Mia’s chances of having a life I never had. Because the little girl in that bedroom is going to have a better life than I did.” Felicity’s eyes widen at the confirmation of something she’s pretty sure she already knew.

The nose, the cheekbones, the smile, her goddamn _facial expressions_ should have told her. Everything about her is a dead giveaway and she hadn’t seen it.

“Mia…” Felicity whispers, stepping closer and raising her hand to touch Mia’s cheek. But Mia steps back, reaching up to intercept her hand, gripping it tightly in her own and pressing it to the center of her chest. They stand quietly for a moment, their hands clasped together tightly, not wanting to let go. Mia breaks the silence at last with a broken whisper.

“I wouldn’t trade my life for anything, Mom. I was happy with you. But I hope this time, she gets to miss out on some of the parts that hurt both of us.” Mia’s responding smile is sad and doesn’t touch her eyes.

“I don’t understand,” Felicity responds with a small shake of her head, the crease between her eyebrows growing more pronounced.

“You will. In just a few minutes,” Mia explains, pressing her fingers into her mother’s palm. Only it’s not much of an explanation and it clearly doesn’t sit well with Felicity. But Felicity lets it slide, glancing out at the last of the sun’s rays peeking over the trees. “I’ve missed you so much,” Mia murmurs.

Felicity takes a stuttering breath at that, unable to look at her daughter. Instead she squeezes Mia’s fingers and takes a small step toward her until their shoulders are just touching. They stand there together for just a few moments longer, waiting. For what, Felicity doesn’t know.

The silence breaks when a low boom—almost like thunder—sounds in the distance. Felicity whirls, releasing Mia’s hand. But the sound is gone as quickly as it came; it’s as if nothing had disturbed the peaceful scene.

“That’s my cue,” Mia says.

“No, stay. Don’t go. Help me understand,” Felicity pleads, whirling back to face Mia. Mia only gives her a rueful smile.

“Believe me, in a few minutes, you won’t want me here,”

“But what will happen to you? It’s like you’re saying _goodbye_.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom. I promise,” she replies with false levity. And when Mia pulls away to walk toward the tree line, Felicity yearns to follow.

Mia turns back when she’s halfway across the yard—standing on a patch of grass she knows like the back of her hand—to look at her mother. “Mom,” she calls. Felicity tilts her head, watching Mia intently, like she’s the only thing in the universe. “I never said this enough when I had the chance. But I love you. So, so much.”

Felicity feels tears fill her eyes and emotion block her throat. All she can do is nod and clutch at the front of her sweater. A cold breeze ruffles Mia’s wavy hair and then she’s gone, only a glimmer left in her wake. Felicity stares at the spot where Mia disappeared, where she lost something she’s never even truly had.

The crunch of leaves startles Felicity from her reverie and she whirls, searching the twilight for the second intruder of the night. She moves to grasp the baseball bat she’d dropped by her feet just moments before but when a silhouette rounds the bend from the drive, she stops.

She knows his gait, knows the breadth of those shoulders, knows the way he moves deftly through the trees. She’s hallucinating, she has to be (it wouldn’t be the first time if she’s being honest with herself).

But this time, the mirage lingers, doesn’t even start to disintegrate. Instead he solidifies as he strides closer.

He pauses when he sees her watching him, frozen in time, each breath a battle. Then he moves slowly, approaching her like he would a wounded animal—slow and sure. It feels like it takes him an eternity before he’s climbed the steps to the deck, just a few feet from where she stands, the last rays of the sun glinting off her golden hair.

“Felicity,” he finally murmurs, taking a small step forward. And then another. And another until he is standing just inches from her. She can feel his body heat, smell him, hear his breathing, see the bright blue of his eyes.

She reaches up with shaking hands to touch his face; her fingers slide across his cheeks, through his beard before threading through his hair. “Felicity,” he says again and his voice cracks around her name. He name awakens something inside her, something she thought had died forty-seven days ago.

“Oliver.”

Her own tears start to fall at the sound of his voice and she practically leaps into his arms. He presses his face to her neck, letting loose a sob of his own. Her arms tighten around him, holding him against her skin, letting his tears soak her skin, maximizing every point of contact.

He’s so achingly gentle with her. His hands caress her back through the cotton of her light cardigan and his lips move over her pulse, her name the only word he seems to know. She traces her thumb over the scar behind his left ear. The smooth line of skin grounds her against the heady emotion threatening to launch her into the stratosphere. She pulls back, dragging her cheek along his, relishing the feeling of his stubble scratching her skin, letting its sharpness ground her in a reality she can’t actually believe is real. When he pulls back, his hands fly to her face, cupping her cheeks to force her to look into his eyes. It takes only seconds for the tears to fall freely down her cheeks.

“Hey,” he says, stroking over her cheekbones with his thumbs drying her tears as best he can, “It’s me, I’m here.” His voice cracks as he leans closer, pressing his forehead against hers. Her eyes slip shut and her hands cover his.

“You’re here,” she says with a thick voice, finally able to form words. Her eyes open, staring directly into his. At first, he can only nod in response, his own tears falling now. When he finds his voice, he tilts her face up, leaning down to let his lips brush hers as he whispers.

“I’m home.”


End file.
